4.

Cici

~~~

It's unhealthy, the amount of times I’ve thought about this moment: how our first meeting would go if we met again.

I imagined being so powerful and untouchable, that he couldn’t easily reach me the way he did my family. I also imagined one where I’d be at an event, dressed in a killer gown, with an even better-looking partner on my arm—someone who wasn’t into violence the way he is.

Different scenarios, different settings, but none involved me getting kidnapped, slapped, pushed, and dirtied, with him coming to save me from it all.

Rafe.

Raffaele Vigano.

"Ah... there she is. My little thief."

His bored tone snaps me out of my thoughts, but I can only stare at him and that stupid look on his equally stupid face.

Why doesn’t he look worse than before?

His sharp cheekbones give way to a square jawline dusted with dark stubble that clings to his skin, with black eyes piercing beneath thick furrowed brows.

He didn’t look like this when we were married. He kept a clean face.

A breath escapes me and I swallow, turning my attention to the two ladies on both sides of me who—just like I was earlier—are still in a daze.

"Guys, get up," I say to them, helping Valerie up.

Now standing, I fight the urge to look down at myself and brush off the dust on me because then he’d know I'm conscious of the way I look in front of him.

I don’t want him to know that.

Why did he have to come with his hair slicked back, smelling nice and dressed in a three-piece suit like he’s fresh out of a gala?

Zarah's grip on my arm causes me to turn to her and I wish I didn't, because right there in her small coffee-brown eyes, is the burning question I refused to respond to minutes ago.

"Let's just get out of here first. We'll talk later," I repeat my words from earlier in the aircraft, and just like then, she hesitates but she nods once. "Let's go,” I mouth to her, trying to assure her we're alright. Then I take a step forward but neither of them follow me, their eyes fixed on the hunk of a man blocking the door.

I turn to him again, my annoyance building because he has that ghost of a smirk on his lips that is undetectable to the untrained eye. Unfortunately, I have years of practice under my belt.

"Luigi!" He yells out in that deep voice. Almost immediately someone responds, and not up to thirty seconds later, another familiar face appears at the door behind him. Rafe steps aside.

"Take them to the car."

Luigi takes one step inside the room and when our eyes meet, he halts and turns with a raised brow to Rafe, whose gaze has refused to leave mine.

I’ve never said more than two words to Luigi my entire life—Rafe made sure of it—but I'd seen him enough times to know he's one of Rafe's trusted cousins.

"Come with me, ladies."

I urge Zarah and Valerie to move with an assuring smile and they do, only that Zarah's grip on my arm, I just notice, never loosens. I don't mind it, however, walking beside her as we approach the door.

Luigi and Valerie are out the door, Zarah crosses the threshold, and just as I’m about to do the same, Rafe steps in front of me, causing Zarah's grip to drop.

As tempted as I am, I don't look up. I'm not ready to face him alone. In fact, I never want to face him alone again.

I take a step to the side of him; he moves, blocking me. I take another and he does the same thing. That’s when I lift my head to meet those torturous dark eyes staring down at me.

"We have a lot to catch up on, don't we?" He asks, daring me to refuse. Behind him, Luigi, Valerie, and Zarah are just standing there, no doubt watching us. It's one of the few times I'm grateful for his massive body as it blocks my view of Zarah's face.

"We'll be down shortly," Rafe's voice booms.

"Alright ladies, follow me." Luigi orders. Then silence.

It’s the kind that comes with danger, the kind that tells you before anything happens, that you might not survive it.

What do I do? I’m not sure how I expected this to go, but this is not it.

I might’ve avoided his direct gaze because I felt insecure about how I looked and about the situation. I might even hate the fact that he can still make me feel this small, but I square my shoulders and force myself to meet his eyes head-on.

Seconds pass by, but neither of us says a word. His gaze digs into me, making every instinct in my body scream at me to look away.

I refuse.

"What are you doing here?" He finally breaks, ending his words with a breath.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was banned from coming to New York."

He narrows his eyes. "Try again."

I fight the urge to bite the insides of my mouth, a nervous habit I picked up only God knows when.

"I'm not sure either," I finally say with a small shrug, not willing to dive into the details of how I ended up here.

He says nothing, just staring at me like I grew a second head. I watch his eyes go over my face, lingering a little on the side of my face I was slapped, then down the rest of my body like he’s inspecting me for more injuries, or looking for signs of what happened before he arrived. A slight frown appears on his face as his eyes come back to mine, like he’s not happy I got hurt at all.

What is he playing at?

Having had enough of this game anyway, I break. "Look, I'll just start by saying thank you for coming to our rescue. I really thought I was going to die, and the girls were...” I trail off, feeling like I'm talking too much, "scared." I finish weakly.

"These men are dangerous. How did you get involved with them?" Of course he wouldn't let it go until I gave the answer he's looking for.

"I didn't? It just kinda happened. Wait, what did you do with Mr. Leader?"

"Killed him."

I gulp.

"Didn't you want him dead? Isn't that why you called me?" He finishes by taking a step towards me, instantly eliminating the space that sat between us. The smell of his cologne, something fresh and woody, wraps around me like a tight hug. That’s when I feel like I've stepped into his territory.

I try to shake my head but his warm, large hand cups the side of my face. The affected side of my face.

"It's been a while, Minera."

Stepping back immediately, I slap his hand away from my face.

"Don't you dare call me that."

It's the pet name he coined for me. I didn't know it then because I don't and still don't speak Italian, but that word means "mine."

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?" He takes the step towards me.

"Stop it!"

He never listens anyway.

"Three years."

"Rafe."

"Three goddamn years! Same duration I had you with me."

Anger, hot and molten, burns deep in my chest and flows outward so fiercely that I don’t even stop to register that he’d also been counting the years.

I wanted this to be a civil meeting seeing as I called and he came to my rescue. But now he wants to bring up the past?

"So what? Three years apart means I suddenly owe you another three years of my life? I don't owe you anything."

I shift to the side and watch in horror as he does the same.

"You don't owe me?" He scoffs. "Did you lose your memory while you were away?"

The stinging starts behind my eyes, but I blink, forcing whatever tears to stay exactly where they are. This is not the time.

Gaining better control of myself, I take a deep breath and look up at him.

"I wish I lost my memory. I would've paid good money to have it done if it were possible," I say, trying to sound airy instead of angry. It would be disastrous if he finds out he still affects my emotions easily.

"Cierra."

"I've thanked you, and I'll still thank you for coming to my rescue. But let’s just pretend tonight never happened. We've lived our lives apart, let's go back to doing that."

He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, and I hate that for a moment—with this anger and hatred I feel towards him—I recall what it feels like to have those lips on mine.

"I see you've done well with yourself," he turns off the safety of his gun before tucking it back into the waistband of his pants, "with the money, jewelry, and everything you stole from me."

My stomach twists, and that’s when I break.

"You know what? Fuck you. Get out of my way!"

He shakes his head in response, causing me to raise a brow in utter confusion.

"Not before you pay me."

"Pay you? Pay you for what?"

He slides his hands into his pockets, a relaxed aura about him, like he just won a case in court.

“You think I came here out of the goodness of my heart?"

"You have no heart."

His nose flares, but he remains composed. "At least we have that out of the way. Now pay up."

The condescending tone of his voice makes me chuckle.

He must think I don't have what it takes to pay him, but he can't even comprehend the wealth I've stepped into, and it's not thanks to anything I stole from him.

"I will," I say with a smirk of my own. "Tell me the amount and I’ll have my assist—" his large hand closes around my throat before I can finish the sentence, pulling me toward him. Panic flashes through me as the space between us disappears. We’re so close that I can taste the mint on his breath when he speaks.

"You think I want your money?" He brings my face impossibly closer. "You think you can afford to pay me with money?"

He releases me and backs away, fixing his cufflinks, while I can only stare at him in awe. I clear my throat.

"So what do you want?"

Lazily, he drags his gaze through the length of my body. "You know what I want."

It's accusatory. But it's also vile, horrible, and exactly like him.

What the hell was I even thinking? I should never have called him.

“You’re sick!”

“Never claimed otherwise.”

I stare at him for several seconds, my pulse hammering.

He’s not joking around.

Alright then. If this is the game he wants to play, then I’ll play it on my terms.

"Fine." His eyes light up, and disgust crawls through me. "And when you do it, make sure it's hard and rough so I can remind myself of how evil you are, and just how much I hate you."

His mouth curves into the faintest smile.

“Fine by me.”